


c'mon, officer, I've got a pizzeria full of possessed animatronics to burn down!

by AvaBlook



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Police, shenanigans caused by an old driver's license picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaBlook/pseuds/AvaBlook
Summary: Michael Afton gets pulled over while driving to work. Takes place during FFPS and goes about as well as can be expected.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	c'mon, officer, I've got a pizzeria full of possessed animatronics to burn down!

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a comedy but I'm not entirely sure it came across that way. It's also my first attempt at writing FNAF, and is loosely based on a dream I had. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

The last few jobs Michael had worked had all been the night shift. It was good for him, safer to only leave his home under the cover of darkness. It was a bit depressing, though, to then spend the entire day shut inside the house with the blinds drawn, faintly hoping for reruns of _The Immortal and the Restless_ to come on TV. Michael didn’t need to sleep, not since Ennard, and there was so much time to pass. 

The owner and manager of a children’s pizzeria couldn’t get away with working the night shift. He could shut himself away in the back office, yes, but he needed to be there during daylight hours, just in case. 

On the bright side, it left his nights open for him to do whatever he wanted. In the darkness, he could leave the house, as long as he covered up. Hurricane didn’t exactly have much of a night life, but even driving aimlessly was a step above sitting in the same room of the house for hours on end.

On the other hand, it made his commute considerably harder. Lots more people were on the road at 8 am than 11 pm, and the traffic more than doubled how long the drive to the pizzeria took him. Michael always got twitchy, being out for so long in broad daylight. Ennard had never been nervous about it, but Michael had noticed the way people stared at them, the looks of disgust and fear. It wasn’t something he was eager to experience again.

This morning was worse than others. Usually once Michael got onto the highway he didn’t have to worry much about people seeing him - there were no pedestrians, and the longest another car would be alongside him was for a few seconds as they passed. Today, however, there was an eighteen-wheeler pulled over in the right lane with a half-dozen cop cars behind, forcing everyone into a crawl along the left lane as they gawked at the scene.

Michael tried to make his way through it as best he could. He tugged his scarf a little higher, pulled his hood a little lower, and stuck to the back bumper of the car in front of him like glue. 

In retrospect, he was just making himself look like he had something to hide. Of course, he _did_ , but it still drew attention from the idle cops parked behind the truck. 

One of the police cars clicked its lights on, and whooped its siren a couple times, and then cut out into traffic right behind Michael’s car. 

_Maybe they’re just… leaving the scene,_ Michael tried to reassure himself. _Needed elsewhere. It’s not like a single truck being pulled over needs this many officers on the scene._

He wasn’t so lucky. Once they got past the truck, and back to where the road had two lanes, Michael pulled into the right lane and started stepping on the gas, trying to get back up to the speed limit. The police car behind him followed, and turned on the siren again.

Michael gave a deep sigh, deep enough that his chest bent concave a little with the loss of air, and clicked on his right turn blinker, pulling over to the side of the road. The police car parked behind him, and the officer got out of the car and began walking towards him.

 _Shit shit shit. Just… act normal_ , Michael thought, rolling down the window.

“License and registration?” the officer asked.

“Right, let me just pull it out,” Michael said, leaning over to open the glovebox on the passenger side of the car. A slice of long-forgotten pizza, now green with mold, fell out and onto the floor.

 _Fucking Ennard,_ Michael thought, digging through the thankfully-mostly-untouched paperwork inside the glovebox and pulling out the car’s registration, which he handed over to the officer. While he was looking over that, Michael pulled out his wallet and slid the driver’s license from it, handing that over as well.

“I’m gonna need you to remove your, uh, mask, and the sunglasses,” the officer said, gesturing at the medical mask and oversized sunglasses Michael was wearing.

Well, that wasn’t good. 

“I have a, uh, a skin condition,” Michael said.

“Is it contagious?” the officer outside his window asked.

“Uh… no,” Michael said.

“Then remove the mask,” the officer said.

Well, he was sort of fucked either way now, wasn’t he? Michael reluctantly reached up and pulled down the medical face mask that covered the lower half of his face.

“Jesus Christ,” the police officer said, flinching backward. “What kind of skin condition _is_ that?”

“Uhh…” Michael said. No one had ever really asked for specifics before. They heard ‘skin condition’, saw rotting flesh, and booked it out of there before Michael could even cover himself up again, let alone try to explain.

“It’s called… necrotizing… dermatitis,” he said. That sounded believable, right?

“Well… I’m gonna need you to remove your glasses, too,” the police officer said.

That was going to be a problem. Michael’s skin wasn’t in great shape, that was for sure, but at least he _had_ skin. He couldn’t say the same for his eyes, which were just empty sockets now.

“I have an eye condition, as well,” Michael said. “Can’t tolerate bright lights. Just chock-full of conditions, I am.”

“Your license doesn’t say anything about needing sunglasses to drive,” the officer noted.

“It’s a recent development,” Michael said. “I was going to get that corrected… soon.”

The officer gave him a skeptical look.

“Look, I’m going to be late for work,” Michael said. It was true; he was due to arrive at the pizzeria in just under fifteen minutes. It would be a little while before the animatronics activated for the day, but any delay was going to cut into the time he had to update the pizzeria’s layout, and he _needed_ to get the ball pit off the floor before he got another lawsuit.

“Call your boss, then,” the police officer said. “I can’t just let you drive off, because this—“ he held up Michael’s driver’s license “—looks nothing like you.”

Which, ouch, _rude_. Michael knew it was true, but still, it wasn’t any easier to hear.

The police officer walked away from Michael’s car for a moment, and he considered just gunning it and getting to work. It wasn’t like he was going to be around much longer to worry about paying a ticket, anyway. 

But if one of the officers followed him, if he got arrested, or if they made it to the pizzeria and discovered what was going on inside… well, that way lay worse legal trouble than tickets and lawsuits, he knew that much.

Instead, he debated making a call. Technically, legally, Michael was his own boss, the head (and only) employee of the new Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. But there _was_ the man who had hired him, recorded the tapes, set the whole thing up. He’d never introduced himself, but his voice was familiar enough for Michael to suspect it might be Henry. Henry had been dead for years, though.

Of course, so had Michael.

Before he could decide one way or the other about the phone call, the police officer was back, leading… another police officer. Joy. The second officer looked older than the first, with a stern face and gray in his hair.

“This is Officer Baker,” the first police officer said, and Officer Baker stepped up to Michael’s window—

Only to immediately jump back, swearing.

“The hell’s wrong with your face?” he demanded.

“It’s necrotizing dermatitis,” Michael said, keeping his tone level. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious.”

“Conta—you think I’m worried about it being contagious?” Baker said. “I’m worried your damn face is gonna fall off while I’m talking to you!”

Which would be rather hard, seeing as there was nothing underneath his skin for it to fall off of.

“It’ll be fine,” Michael said. “Now, Officer, what do you need me to do?”

The officer grumbled and grabbed Michael’s paperwork from the first officer. He looked it over for a moment.

“Confirm some of this information for me to prove this is actually you,” Baker said. “Your date of birth?” 

“March seventeenth, 1971,” Michael answered.

“Your place of birth? And your address?”

Michael told him.

“Hmm… well, that checks out well enough,” Baker said. “Can you take off your sunglasses for me so I can confirm your eye color?”

“Sorry, no,”Michael said. “My eyes, they can’t handle bright lights like, well, the sun. I can’t take my sunglasses off outdoors during the day.”

“Hmph,” the officer sighed. “Step out of the car, please.”

“What for?” Michael asked.

“We’re gonna do a sobriety test,” Baker said. “Gonna make sure you’re not fucking with me on the glasses thing to hide that you’re high as a kite.”

“Fair enough,” Michael muttered, pulling his face mask back up and stepping out of the car. The younger officer walked him over to a clear stretch of pavement at the side of the road while Officer Baker pulled out a notepad and started writing something down.

“Alright, I want you to walk along this painted line on the side of the road, heel-to-toe, for nine steps in one direction…” the younger officer said, and Michael focused on following his directions. He wasn’t drunk, couldn’t get drunk, but not having a skeleton anymore didn’t exactly do his posture any favors, so it took all his concentration to follow along.

The police officer had him walk along the road in one direction, turn and come back, and balance on one leg, all of which Michael managed to do. The younger officer seemed happy enough with that result. Officer Baker… not so much. Michael recognized fear when he saw it. The man knew something was off about Michael, he was sure of it.

As the younger police officer led Michael back to the car, he snuck a look at the ‘notes’ that the officer had been taking, which read:

  1. slunge 
  2. It has _ass_



It took everything in Michael not to burst out laughing at that. He’d spooked the guy so bad he’d lost all coherent thought? What the hell?

Michael got back into the car, and Officer Baker handed over his license and registration.

“You’re free to go,” he said. “Get your license picture updated soon, yeah?”

“Sure thing, officer,” Michael said, trying to keep a laugh out of his voice. It was cruel to laugh at someone else’s fear, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. If this was the man’s reaction to _Michael,_ he couldn’t imagine how he’d handle something actually scary, like Scrap Baby.

… well, that had killed his good mood pretty fast. Remembering that your baby sister was a mangled undead clown animatronic would do that, it seemed. 

Michael switched the car into gear and drove off. He had a job to do, after all.


End file.
